One of the most vivid memories of my postpartum days is of our first road trip with our son....It was a simple weekend excursion to get out of town. And yet, during our return, I felt a sense of magic wash over me. It was late in the night and we were in motion over a black, winding road.
In our flight through space, I was pummeled with a lost, familiar sort of ecstasy, one I had chased so fervently in my former years spent wandering the globe. A route that had become so routine I could drive it in my sleep began to sparkle; I breathed in mountains I had never before noticed. We stopped in towns whose only familiarity was their highway sign; I held a wonder about their nuances, as though they had been stumbled upon at the ends of the earth. The song playing through our speakers penetrated my being as I gazed in both exhaustion and gratitude toward the night sky, wondering how I had landed where I had, of all the corners of the world. Wondering how I had gotten so lucky.
It was the sacred awe of traveling, back to find me in my rooted years. There it was, stopped on the side of the road, no more than a half hour from my home. This tiny, wrinkly being had brought adventure to all that had been taken for granted. Had made me weary but full, as though having trekked through the night, my life on my back, ready to collapse in wilderness so remote from my roots. [read more from ‘Why we Travel with the Toddler,’ link in profile- @the_mindful_mess ] #tbt #babysfirstroadtrip